


flower crown

by Super_Danvers



Category: The World To Come (2021)
Genre: Death, F/F, Post Film, Sapphic, abigail x tallie, taligail, tallie x abigail, the world to come, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 02:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Super_Danvers/pseuds/Super_Danvers
Summary: Abigail misses Tallie.
Relationships: Abigail/Tallie (The World to Come)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 21





	flower crown

Abigail looked for Tallie. Looked for her in everything. She looked for her in the treeline as if her red hair might pop up amongst the green at any moment. If she stared long enough at the water troughs as if she might see those blue eyes reflecting back at her through the water. At night, when she would write in her ledger, her eyes would scan over the pages until she found Tallie’s name. If she read the name in her head and under her breath, she could almost smell the biscuit warmth of Tallie’s blossom-kissed skin. Tallie was never there though, never close enough to touch.

Abigail cried at nights. Whimpered into her pillow over missing Tallie and her warm embrace. On some occasions, when Dyer couldn’t take her crying anymore, he’d roll over and pull her into his arms. Both of them knew it wasn’t his embrace she longed for but it would have to do. Dyer didn’t smell like Tallie at all. Where Tallie smelled like biscuits and damp trees, Dyer smelled of ash and fire-smoke. Her closeness felt like kisses in the rain whereas Dyer’s felt like clinging to a raft to stay afloat. Struggling, kicking, fighting for air – that’s what Dyer felt like. A shroud of panic and claustrophobia that Abigail never felt with Tallie. Being with Tallie felt free, like the wind that brushed through the trees.

During the days, when Dyer was away to town, Abigail would sit in the fields and pick at the wild flowers growing there. She would fashion them into crowns and picture Tallie struggling to make her own. She’d be wearing that face she made whenever she was trying to write more poetry. Eyebrows furrowed so closely together that they were almost knitted and her tongue stuck out as if she would catch an idea like a snowflake. Tallie would be good at flower crowns, Abigail knew it. Better than her. She’d probably make one with the purple flowers – the ones that were similar to daisies – and find a way to braid them into the long plait she always wore. She’d look beautiful, Abigail knew that too. She could see it if she looked hard enough.

Try as she might, the memories of Tallie were slowly warping in Abigail’s mind. She couldn’t quite picture the shade of her hair anymore, whether it was more burnt orange or sun-kissed blonde. She couldn’t remember which side she wore her braid on, whether her skirts were green or brown or if she was right-handed or left-handed. The same thing had happened with Nellie too. There was nothing to remember her by either. For a while, Abigail had been convinced Nellie had had wonderful dark hair that was long and thick like hers, only to be told by Dyer that their Nellie had had soft, reddish hair like Tallie’s. Although the fantasy had been shattered, Abigail didn’t mind the comparison that replaced it. Oh, how she longed for Nellie and Tallie to know each other. They would’ve gotten along famously had they been alive at the same time. That would have been Abigail’s perfection. Her soul and her creation, together. She wanted to see them more than she wanted life.

In the nights, when she could escape Dyer’s escape raft, Abigail would sneak out. Dressed in only her night gown, she would traipse down to the water at the bottom of the farm under the gaze of the shining moon. The grass, damp from mist, would soak her bare feet and mud would cling to her soles until she stepped from the bank into the water. It was cold, always colder at night. Down here, everything was so deathly silent. No birds, no wind, no farm animals: nothing stirred. The only sounds would be that of the water soaking Abigail’s knees, then her hips, up to her breasts then sucking her down until only her head poked above. She wished she was brave enough to let it take her whole. How better life would be if she let the water swallow her up and drag her down, down, down to its murky bottom. Then, she could see Nellie and Tallie again and make flower crowns in the field.

Instead, her head would tip back and the rest of her would float to the surface so she was laying on the water like she laid on her own bed. She would count the stars until the sun arose or the cold became too much for her to bear. Abigail begged for something to kill her. Water, cold, illness, anything would do. Dyer could live without her. He could manage the farm by himself, he’d proved that so many times whilst Tallie had been here. Yes, Dyer could live without her but Abigail couldn’t live without Tallie.

Everything was cold without her. All Abigail craved was wild flower crowns and warm biscuits and the smell of damp trees.


End file.
